Agent Smith Studies: Alcohol
by Geriatric Yoda
Summary: Okay, here's my first short story based on the concept created by Troll. THIS IDEA WAS USED ITH HIS PERMISSION! Please R&R and DO NOT FLAME! In this, the Agents have to deal with the after-math of getting drunk. The third title will be "Films"
1. Alcohol

**Agent Smith Studies: Alcohol**

**NOTE! For those of you about to _Flame this, saying the idea/concept was ripped from Troll's "Agent Smith Studies," series, I advise you all to please have a look at my review of his stories. There I ask to do the same thing as well, as I had had a similar idea for quite some time. He e-mailed me back telling me to "Go for it!" and that "Free minds breed free thoughts."_**

**       So, just in case, all original ideas and concepts this series spins-out from go to Troll. _I am just a humble fan writing a FanFic __about a FanFic, alright? Now read the damn Fic already! Sheesh… _**

**Agent Smith Studies: Alcohol.**

**                                              Set the day after "Drugs" (see Troll's 2nd chapter!)**

**It was the morning following the exceptional experience of the narcotics, and the trio of Agent's were lying around the apartment, and feeling all the better for the broadening of their horizons.**

**    Simultaneously, they arose from wherever their delusional state had cared to take it leave of them. Brushing themselves down respectfully, they straightened their shades and turned to one-another.**

**    Agent Brown was the first to speak up. "That was most definitely…_educational_," he said, brushing some orange peel out of his otherwise sleek brown hair. He couldn't exactly remember _why_, but the night before he had had the most insane reasons for destroying every single fruit of the aforesaid variety within the vicinity of the apartment. Looking back at it now, he realised such actions were ludicrous, and were below that of Agent standards.**

**    "Indeed," his partner, Agent Jones conceded. "One certain aspect of taking these drugs still fascinates me, though… those _hallucinations_. Did no one else see a particularly humorous-looking pink elephant?"**

**    "Negative," Agent Smith answered curtly. After all, he had been to preoccupied in his discussion with Mr. Spoon, a being whose knowledge surely surpassed that of any other such implement, and who knew the answers to Life, the Universe and Everything. "But tell me," he added as an after-thought. "Do either of you see the significance in the number forty-two?"**

**   "It is the only whole number to be higher than forty-one, whilst at the same time lower than the number forty-three," Agent Jones offered, to show that his straight thinking was slowly returning.**

**    "Besides the obvious," Smith replied.**

**    At this, both Agents shook their heads.**

**    "Hmm," for a brief moment, Smith connected himself to the matrix, searching it's databanks for any signs of the elusive number. After a while of fruitless discoveries, he pulled out. "No," he sighed, "me neither."**

**   "But _come_!" Agent Brown tutted impatiently. "Let's not dwell on the _unpredictable_ nature of these…drugs. We have learned a great deal, have we not?" He looked from Jones to Smith, hoping for an answer. When none presented itself, he continued. "_I for one, have learnt of many military strategies partaken by oranges."_**

**   "Gentlemen!" Smith snapped, straightening his tie. "Let us not forget that what we experienced last night were none other than hallucinations. Illusions we believed to be real, when truly they were fake all along." He remembered the spoon saying the same about the world in which they presently presided in, but he wished never to divulge that information. "Are you both fully recovered from last night's… _fiasco_?" He asked suddenly, changing the subject.**

**    "I am relatively sane and _calm, if that is what you mean, Agent Smith," Jones replied crisply. "Why do you ask?"_**

**    "I _ask_, gentlemen, because we are about to set out upon another of my studies." Smith replied, simply.**

**    Agent Brown turned sharply to face Smith. "What do you mean _'another?'_ Have we not already done enough insight into the pitiful ways in which the human race turn to for pleasure?" He didn't actually want to _stop_, he thought afterwards, slightly uneasy. He was just worried if they would ever over-step the border – put a toe out of line, so to speak. He most definitely did _not want to become an exile, _or_ face deletion._**

**    Agent Smith laughed dryly at his partner. "_Enough?" He asked, leering at the other two Agents. "When is _anything _ ever enough these days? The cat-exercise was a waste of valuable _time_, so we shall over-look that from hence forth. __This experiment has proved useful," he added, turning determinedly to the door. "And I have an idea where we can do __similar research…"_**

**    "Where?"**

**    Smith turned his head slightly, smirking at the Agent who had uttered the question. "Why, if I told you _that, Agent Brown," he said slyly, "you wouldn't drive us there, now would you…? No, instead, __do come, and you will know when we get there."_**

**   As the other two followed Agent Smith out the door, Jones gave Brown a concerned side-wards glance. Was Smith becoming too attached – too _addicted_ to human life?**

*****

**The sign read:**

****

**_The King's Head._**__****

****

**    In tall, neon letters above a small, plaza-like building with a '****Beer****Garden****,' beside it.**

**    "It is a public drinking house." Agent Jones stated flatly.**

**   Agent Smith clapped slowly, basking in the stench of alcohol. "Well put, Jones! Yes, it _is a Pub, a place where humans come to get drunk – or '__p***ed as a newt', as some would say – and have a good time." He gestured towards the door. "Let enter…"_**

**    "It is locked," Brown announced after trying the door-handle once or twice. "Because it is before Opening Hours…we shall have to retire and come back at a later date-"**

**    "That will _not be necessary," Smith answered grimly. Balling his hand up into a fist, Smith pulled back and punched a hole through the pane of glass. Reaching his arm through,  he un-did the few bolts and broke the rest of the locks. Withdrawing his arm, he gestured to the door once again. "Agent Brown, __if you'd be so kind…"_**

**    Agent Brown tried the handle. This time,  the door swung open effortlessly.**

**    Upon entering, the three Agents went to the back of the Pub, and sat around I table, out of the way of the public eye. Each Agent taking a beer menu, they scanned the beverages on offer.**

**    "_Hmm_," Agent Smith hummed softly. "I think I will try a pint of _StrongBow. Jones?"_**

**    "The _Foster's_ appeals to me," Jones answered quickly. "Though I can't figure out how this _Red Bull can give humans wings…Is it some kind of mutation enhancer?"_**

**    "It is a _slogan, Agent Jones." Smith snapped impatiently. "And Agent __Brown…?"_**

**    "Pardon…? Oh, I'll just have a packet of peanuts and an orange juice, if you don't mind."**

**    The other two Agents _glared at him. "As a matter of fact," Agent Smith retorted, "I __do mind…Agent __Brown, need I remind you we are _not_ here to enjoy ourselves, but to study different aspects of human-life…Now, what do you want to _drink_?" His voice had taken on a warning tone, telling the Agent not to continue with his folly._**

**   Submitting under the name of science, Brown sighed. "I guess I have no choice but to try a _Stella Artrois-"_**

**    "No," Agent Smith agreed, "you _don't have a choice…now, go and __get the drinks."_**

**    "W-what?"**

**    "You were the only one to not wanting to take part in this experimentation _originally_, therefore it's 'your round,' as the saying goes…" Smith murmured, shooing the protesting Agent towards the counter.**

*****

**It was an hour and a half later, and the _King's Arms_ held three very drunk Agents indeed. Not only was _their table piled high with empty bottles and glasses, but so were dome of the tables nearby._**

**    Agent Smith and Agent Jones were slouched against each-other, arms over shoulders. They were in the mood to laugh at _anything and __everything. "'Ere we go – 'ere we go – 'ere we goooo!" They sang heartily, not actually knowing, or in fact _caring _where they were going, as long as it involved 'more booze'._**

**    "'Ere – 'ere…" Agent Jones sniffed, pushing himself off of Smith weakly. "What's 'appened to ole' Browny-boy, ey?"**

**    There was a thump, a crash and tinkle of breaking glass, and a half-miserable, half-drunken raged bellow of: "Argh, bloody *ick!* _hell_!" From behind the bar.**

**    "He-he, _that_ just d-did!" Smith replied, laughing merrily in the direction of the fallen Agent. "He-he! Say, don't _tell anyone, will ya? But Brown's been getting _all_ the rounds! He-he-he! Wah-_hey_!"_**

**    "I  *hic* 'ing _heard that!" A slurred voice grumbled menacingly from below. "I __thought sssomething *hoc* __fissshy was going on! Well, next time, __you can buy 'em, you hear?!"_**

**    "My-_my!" Jones giggled furiously. "It would seem tha' one o' the – hahaha! – __side-effects of too much booze is random anger! Imagine __tha'!"_**

**    "I j-just _did, hah-hah!" Smith bellowed hysterically. "C-come on, I think we've l-learned enuff, don't _you_? Heh-heh…now, who's goin' to d-drive us back to the h'arparment?"_**

**    Jones seemed to sober slightly from the shock of that prospect. "I-I _never_ thought 'bout tha'…I know! Ey, Browny-boy…?"**

**    "Ssstop *hic* bloody callin' that!" Came the angered slur.**

**    "Sorry, ole' mate," Agent Jones apologised. "But could you give us lot a lift 'ome?"**

**    "O'course I *ick* 'ing well can! Wass goin' ta anyway *HIC* opps, 'scuse me…!"**

**    There was a retching sound, followed closely by a long lasting noise of something best left un-described splattering onto the concrete floor of the Pub, followed in turn by a roar of : "Aw…I feel bloody awful after that – I need a _drink!" From Agent 'Bloody' Brown._**

**    "No, _don't_!" Smith demanded, knocking over glasses as he rose to stop the new-found beer monster that had been discovered residing inside Agent Brown's programming. "_No," he added, slowly concentrating so as to be able to string a sentence together. "Just drive us home."_**

**    "What about the *hic* _drink drivin' crap?" Brown asked uneasily._**

**    "B***ocks to that, I say!" Agent Jones roared, tottering out from underneath the fallen pile of bottles and glasses. "If we can dodge _bullets_, then I say cars should be sh*t easy! They're bigger and easier to see, aren't they? Besides, you not _half _as drunk as Smithy-baby and me! We'll get home alright, no worries…"**

*****

**As the two shock-sobered Agents pulled the semi-conscious Brown from the slowly blazing wreckage that was once their car, they made off into the woodlands, so as to avoid capture by the police already turning up. As they ran, one of Brown's arms slung over each of their shoulders, Agent Smith distinctively heard Agent Brown grumble away…**

**    "That was my favourite car, that was, that was my baby… '_We can dodge bullets!'_ nah-nah-nee-nah-nah! '_We'll get home alright, no worries…!_' Oh, yeah? No worries my arsssssss……"**

**THE END OF AGENT SMITH STUDIES: ALCOHOL**


	2. Hangovers and Dementia

**_It had to happen! _**

**Agent Smith Studies: Hangovers and Dementia.**

****

**Sunlight poured through a crack in his bedroom curtains, causing Agent Smith to squint in pain. He felt _tired_ even after his long slumber. Oh, and he had also received a nasty flaw in his programming which he identified as a _headache_. Was this the typical aftermath of being drunk or, as Agent Jones gad put _whilst being so, "completely smashed;" Namely, a hangover?_**

**            Shuffling into the kitchen, he saw Agent Brown seated and slumped onto the table. He seemed to be muttering something in his sleep: "_Car…all gone now…_ "Dodge bullets,"_ I'll give you dodge bleedin' bullets, come 'ere!" He then punched himself in the face, seemingly unaware that he had done so. "Oh-__ho!" he murmured gradually, as the pain evidently lessened. "So _that's _the way you wanna play it, ey?"_**

**            Placing a respective hand on the rambling man before any _real damage could be done, Smith shook Agent Brown awake. "Fear not," he announced as the sleepy man snorted, to caught up in his fight to want to chicken out by waking up. "We can __replace it…"_**

**            Grumbling something about 'Getting 'Em Later,' Agent Brown finally woke up, head rising from it's pool of excess saliva. "Huh-rumph!" He grunted, rubbing his eyes with spittle-soaked hands. "Ewww…Er, what was that? God, I feel terrible…"**

**             "The car," Agent Smith answered, traipsing over to the fridge. "We can retrieve the coding again, and duplicate it at no extra cost…**_**Orange**_**Juice? It's said to help with hangovers-"**

**            "Hung over _what_, exactly?" Agent Jones asked as he stumbled over to another chair, far away from Brown, and collapsing into it. Out of all the difficulties that arose from this task of studying human life, he found their use of language the most peculiar. Round about _now, he was trying his hardest to decipher the meaning of the phrase "Cutting Me Own Throat," whatever __that meant._**

**            "Hangover," Agent Smith muttered, calling up the matrix's data on the word. "_Unpleasant physical effects following the heavy use of alcohol…In a word, Jones, what we've received from last night's – what shall I call it? – __Success."_**

**            Brown snorted scornfull. "Success? At what, may I ask? All _I've succeeded in is to be utterly determined never to touch another drop of alcohol until my Day of Deletion!"_**

**            This phrase was the Agent equivalent of the human's "Until My Dieing Day," and had, quite simply, good reason to be. No Agent was ever willing to face deletion, just as the average human ****wis**hes to be immortal. This is where the similarities end, however, and conflicting views take-off. Humans _believe_ that immortality is impossible because death comes too soon.****

**            Agents believe  that ever-lasting life is all too achievable, as death is only meant for lesser beings. They were above death.**

**            "_God, I _****wis****h I was dead!" Brown groaned, head slamming back onto the table with a resounding crack. "D-don't want nunna that stuff, either…"**

**            _Very_ _Well,_ Agent Smith thought, _there are exceptions for everything, I suppose…"Indeed I _do_ know it," he snapped crisply. "I _know_ because our study has taught me a great much… Orange Juice, Mr. Jones?"_**

**            "Does it contain alcohol, toxins, beer,_ 'booze_' or any other stupid phrase along the same lines?" Agent Jones asked wearily, eyeing the juice carton with cautious scepticism.**

**            Pulling out his shades from his inside suit pocket and placing them on, Smith gave the carton a professionalized scrutinizing gaze, turning it over in his hands, the liquid sloshing around inside. After a while, he said: "No, but it is said to contain _'No Gunk, No Junk, Just Juice,'_ which I think is evidence enough…"**

**            "Then give me excess of it!" Jones announced dryly, pushing a glass tumbler toward Smith. "Just as long as it gets rid of this damn headache." **

**            Smith gave a thin smile. "Oh, I can't promise a miracle," he said, recalling another human phrase he frequently heard on the streets. He tipped some juice into the glass, handed it back to Jones, and waited.**

**After fifteen minutes, Agent Brown was once again asleep and Agent Jones was behaving peculiarly.**

**"It's _good_!" He bellowed, "it's _damn_ good – give me more!"**

**Smith up-turned the carton.**** "There's none _left," he replied curtly. This was amazing, was this _****oran****ge juice a _drug or an alcoholic beverage? It seemed that whichever it was, Jones was firmly addicted to it nonetheless, and seemed to be getting very slightly _drunk_ at the same time. "Anyway," he added, rising from his seat. "I think you've had enough…"_**

**"I could have given ya some fresh orange juice _yesterday," Brown mumbled against the flat surface of the table. "But I didn't think you'd like to drink the blood of mine enemies…"_**

**In a burst of anger, Agent Smith aimed a low kick at Brown's chair, sending it flying out from underneath him. The poor Agent, too sleepy to be alert, fell onto the floor on his back with a grunt of: "Argh! You _bas***d! The light's right above my eyes! Lemme up-"_**

**But before Brown had a chance to get up, Agent Jones and Agent Smith placed one restraining foot on each of his struggling shoulders. His legs ****fla****iled, but he couldn't get up. **

**"If I've told you _once_," Agent Smith snarled, glaring down at the floundering man before him, "I must've told you…_fourteen _times, to be precise. Anyway, there _are _no guerrilla oranges, and there ****nev**er were. You merely _imagined _there was, and raided the fridge and attacking all fruits of the aforesaid variety with a tenderizer."****

**"Oh," Brown grunted, finally giving up his struggles. "_Oh…"_**

**"Indeed, now, I don't wish to hear any more of this, so you will have to repeat after me: ****Oranges**** are _not_ militaristic!" Smith snapped, resembling an drill instructor, Brown couldn't help realising.**

**"__****Oranges****_ are not militaristic…_" Brown grumbled. "Look, can I get up now? That damn light going to make me blind if I have to stare at it any longer."**

**"Yes. How do you _feel_?"**

**            "Like a person waking halfway through his own Operation, only to discover he hasn't got the right number of _limbs, can I get __up now?!"_**

**            Removing their boots from Brown, Agent Smith and Agent Jones exchanged a knowing nod. _This was another aspect of human nature they would surely have to explore, the way some mortals broke under pressure and went inevitably insane. Could the same be happening to an Agent, just when they thought the limiting rules of human life did not apply to them? They would have to investigate…_**

**            "Agent _Jones?" Smith sighed, pulling on his coat. "I'm going to find out what "flicks" are one at the "movies…" Carry on experimenting, if you _****wis**h."****

**            And, as Agent Smith left, the door banging shut behind him, Jones turned to the now-wary Brown with a sadistic smile of a boy planning to skin his first real catch with a potato peeler. He sniggered. "Funny you should mention operations," he murmured, producing what looked like a stun-gun to the wide-eyed Agent before him. "Because this won't hurt…_much_."**

**                                                                                                                                                                                                                        End**


End file.
